


The Vampire of the Marmoras

by EneriMess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternative Universe - Victorian Age with Magic, Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Written for Tales of Altea Fanzine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EneriMess/pseuds/EneriMess
Summary: “We shouldn't be here.”The distant rumble of a thunder follows these words and Lance shudders in his night robe. He doesn't know what upsets him the most - their surroundings, their situation, or both things combined.“We shouldn't be here at all!” he squeaks between his teeth. “Late at night-- entering Lord Kolivan's personal library! He asked us threateningly - and I specify: threateningly! - not to snoop!”





	The Vampire of the Marmoras

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Tales of Altea fanzine. My deepest thanks to Myst for the translation.

_“We shouldn't be here_.”

The distant rumble of a thunder follows these words and Lance shudders in his night robe. He doesn't know what upsets him the most - their surroundings, their situation, or both things combined.

 _“We shouldn't be here at all!”_ he squeaks between his teeth. “ _Late at night-- entering Lord Kolivan's personal library! He asked us threateningly - and I specify: threateningly! - not to snoop!”_

Taking the next step, Lance is distracted by his own blabber and bangs his nose against the Wizard's back, who is standing in front a door closed by a latch.

 _“Shiro!”_ He'd like for his voice to come out louder, but he finds himself whispering sharply. He stabilizes the lantern while staring at the darkness that fills the corridor - behind them now there's only growing shadows.

Lance must remember that they're not in the civilized Londinium of the late nineteenth century, where the streets are lit by lamps. Looking out from Marmora Hall’s windows, here in Dartmoor, there are only hectares of moors and marshes. And a threat that they've not yet managed to stop.

Earlier, he has bumped into the Wizard because of his carelessness, but now Lance steps closer to Shiro's back on purpose - he doesn't like the situation and the other keeps on ignoring him. The truth is that he's whispering a spell, with his brow furrowed and his cursed hand lingering over the latch.

Another thunder knocks on the windows with a slight but pressing tremor.

_“... Shiro.”_

Lance’s plea is as strident as the sound the latch makes as it slowly clicks, driven by the spell. The Wizard grasps his Assistant by the wrist and drags him inside, while the door closes again as if it had never been pried open.

The interior of the library is even darker.

 _“Keep your voice down,”_ says Shiro, who’s focusing only on the surroundings greeting them.

There's something hostile, solemn and awfully secret that seeps through the library's atmosphere. All of this crawls on Lance's skin and he jumps at the next thunder. The lightning sheds a dazzling light on the bookcases, the furniture, and the details they couldn't see in the dark. Among these there's a face on a wall.

Lance can't stay quiet anymore. He steps in front of the Wizard and clings to his shoulders with an inarticulate moan, preventing him from going further. He's absolutely sure they're going to end in a mess bigger than the one they’re in now - it's not just a feeling, it's a tight knot forming in his stomach.

However, he's unable to put it into words and he doubts that his expression, barely visible in the dim light of the lantern, is strong enough to stop Shiro.

 _“The vampire-”_ Lance croaks, sure of their awful death.

“There's no vampire.”

It's an unexpected answer that distracts Lance, so much so that the new rumble goes almost unnoticed.

“W-What?”

But the Wizard, even if he doesn't push him away, goes back to looking around for something. Lance is shocked.

“We're _here_ for the vampire! Here, on this damn moor to _stop a vampire_ ! What does it _mean_ that there's no vampire here!? _Shiro, listen to me or I swear I'll scream!_ ”

The threat of blowing everything up makes the Wizard frown. He looks down to stare at him and nods slowly.

“I've got an idea-” but it seems a thought he's still fighting against. “-that the creature on the moor is not what Matt and Monsieur Coran asked us to help them with.”

“Shiro, outside there is-”

 _“Something,”_ and he says it in the authoritative tone that usually makes Lance shut up. “There's definitely _something_ on the moor, but not a vampire.”

The rain has begun to whip the walls of the manor, creating a background noise for the revelation that seems to put all their progress in vain.

The truth doesn't help Lance relax. He steps back and sinks his teeth into his lower lip to hold back the doubts.

The handbook _How to Be an Assistant_ _and How to Be Impeccable at It_ illustrates the necessity of keeping a stable _aplomb_ to make a positive contribution to a Wizard's reasoning, even in the most tangled situations.

“If... it's not a vampire... then what has yellow eyes, moves fast and quietly, leaves no traces and bites its victims sucking their blood... ?”

However, the handbook doesn't explain how someone can keep calm in front of a threat that not even the Wizard knows the cause of.

Shiro moistens his lips. When he does that, it means he has no answer.

“I don't know yet,” at least, he manages to say it as if he was saying "I'm going to find out", which is what actually follows.

“And... you want to find this out in Lord Kolivan's personal library? Why?”

Lance turns to look at the room, that stays motionless and immersed in the shadows. There's something disturbing emanating from it, as if the books could open and suddenly bite - a possibility that the Assistant doesn't feel like excluding.

“He didn't tell us everything,” Shiro resumes, going past him to examine the desk.

“Everything _what?_ You’re only saying this because it's clear that Lord Kolivan doesn't want us around! We invaded his home a month before his protégé's marriage and you - I repeat, you demanded to stay, even if he wished to take care of the situation himself! Have you considered that it might be a good idea to let him do it on his own? We're here to make him a favor, zero revenue! Furthermore the servants here at Marmora Hall are all domestics who- well, have you seen them? They look like warriors, not like cooks or gardeners-”

“Lord Kolivan's men are Hunters.”

Again, Shiro says it nonchalantly, like a thought he has forgotten to mention when it was the right time.

Feeling at the mercy of the events in his blue dressing robe, Lance observes him in the glare of the lantern, as he bends down to open some drawers and rummage inside. Lance doesn't reply, not immediately. He closes his mouth, inhales and then chooses to rub his temple with tired fingers.

With _Hunters_ Shiro is referring to a category, like Vampires, which has been considered extinct for at least two generations in modern England. But this place, Marmora Hall, is subverting every certainty Lance has learned in the five months he's lived in Londinium. Supernatural creatures, brutal mercenaries, and apparently, secrets to be revealed. His nephews will love the stories that he'll bring with him at his return, if he'll get out alive.

“I wish to ask you _why_ you didn't mention all of this to me, but now I understand why Lord Kolivan doesn't like us here.”

The Assistant gives up and he goes next to the Wizard. Lance lifts the lantern so that Shiro can take advantage of its light and save energy and magic instead of using his cursed hand as a lamp. They'll need to be ready in case someone runs into them.

 

Time goes by and Lance begins to get a bit bored. He has scanned the entire library and there are several grotesque objects, including tribal masks, an urn at the center of a tea table in front of the fireplace, a braid of white hair cut off and hung in a case, plus a collection of several swords with dark blades. Once every surface of the library has been lit up, there's nothing so shocking that it makes him fear retaliation from enchanted books. On the other side, they all seem generally very normal, old books in languages that Lance tries to guess by mumbling the letters he recognizes.

Shiro, on the other hand, exudes tension and a veil of frustration - as his Assistant, Lance has memorized all the small lines of his expression - because he's not even close to making sense of anything in his scrap-booking among the papers, notes, and then analysis of the small artifacts, even using the _Revelio_ spell.

Meanwhile, Lance has bypassed the table with the urn and has approached the face that has scared him when the lightning has lit the room. It’s hanging above the extinguished hearth and it's a portrait of a woman. She's not facing the observer, but her gaze is able to penetrate under Lance’s skin even in the shadows.

She's not a spontaneous beauty like Lady Allura, the adoptive daughter of Lord Kolivan, and Lance is not even sure that she's a noblewoman, since her clothes favor practicality at the expense of elegance. However, she has something that Lance cannot explain and that leaves him suspended and fascinated. He goes through every detail - lips, cheekbones, eye-cuts, frown - in search of that feature he cannot grasp.

At the bottom of the frame there's a metal plate.

 _Krolia_.

A name followed by a motto.

“Knowledge or death...?”

“… what did you say?”

Lance doesn't notice he's spoken out loud and startles at Shiro's question. The Wizard is looking at him with such a vehemence that something between his stomach and his chest jolts, but he still shows him the plate without hesitation.

Shiro has several new reactions in sequence and Lance observes them in detail: he sees him touch and reread the incision in a murmur full of mixed feelings. Then Shiro takes the lantern from the hand of his Assistant and raises it so that the light reaches the canvas in its entirety. Shiro's gaze speaks for him, as if he's found a part of the secret he was looking for. And it seems to have a special name.

_“Keith.”_

“Wait, _who_ ?” Lance looks from the painted woman to Shiro and back, confused and in search of any kind of connection between the two things. “Did you say _Keith_? That Keith? Your first... Assistant?”

Shiro doesn't answer, not immediately. His hold is tightening on the handle of the lamp like a reflection of his own thoughts.

“Didn’t he disappear a year ago?” Lance tries again.

“Yes.”

“And what does this... woman... have to do with...!”

The epiphany catches the boy without a warning. He knows Keith only from the photographs he found when he tidied up the Wizard’s office, but the resemblance is clear in those lips, cheekbones, eyes, even in Krolia's tense forehead.

“They are... related.” He doesn't want to bet on what bond they share - not when a new truth has just been uncovered.

“I think she's his mother. Keith was looking for her. “

“Ok, ok, wait a moment ... _why_ does Lord Kolivan have a portrait of Keith's mother? Would it be possible that they are, I don't know, uncle and nephew?”

This hypothesis makes Shiro stiffen. His expression betrays his conflict. He bites his lips to stifle the words he doesn't want to let out. Lance looks away because he knows _this_ expression too - the _I can't tell you_ one. He has learned how it works - he must not insist. But he doesn't have the opportunity to change the subject, because this time is different. Now, Shiro searches for his eyes.

“Keith knew only three things about his past,” the Wizard begins, running a hand over his face in the attempt to erase his conflicting feelings. “His mother left him a dagger, one that's typical of the Hunters.”

Lance hears something as the noise of a gear snapping into the maze of mysteries of that night.

“Did she leave him a knife as a mother's pledge? Wait - _that dagger_! The one in your office?!”

“It's the only thing that he left behind after his disappearance, along with- there's a sentence that he occasionally repeated, a sort of principle. It was the only clue he'd managed to find in years of research, and it was linked to a group of former Hunters... “

“Knowledge or death.” The Assistant makes the connection as a terrible shiver runs down his spine. “Something less macabre wasn't an option, uh? The more I find out about this Keith, the less I want to meet him”

Shiro, despite himself, lets out a sigh and a short, condescending smile. He likes Lance for his sincerity.

“Then?” the latter urges.

Shiro turns to look at Krolia again. Her eyes somehow escape his - she keeps her gaze fixed ahead of her, in the obstinacy underlined by the brushstrokes.

“What... I'm about to tell you must stay between you and me. It's not simply a matter of secrecy between Wizard and Assistant, it's very important. It's _really_ important, Lance.”

Lance knows when it's not time to joke around anymore. It is when his name is spoken with the emphasis that makes him want to do anything for Shiro. So he waits, because he understands that this might be the most burning revelation, but he can’t imagine its relevance yet.

“Keith's mother is a vampire.”

Lance chokes on air.

_“WH-- !?”_

Shiro's quick snap of fingers prevents Lance from alerting half of the manor. He looks at him with a tired, yet deep-rooted patience. Lance looks at him with dazed eyes that speak for his silenced voice.

"I'm sorry, Lance." While his spell's effects fade away, the Wizard explains. “Keith is a Dhampyr, half human half vampire. This happens when a pregnant woman receives the Bite.” The attention of both focuses again on the portrait. “The Dhampyrs are rare, since the unborn children don't always survive the mutation. But they have some advantages, such as being able to walk in the sunlight and mingle with humans.”

Lance tries to speak but what comes out is only vague sounds. He gestures frantically with his hands, pointing in succession to the painting and then to the library and finally pressing his fingers on his temples in frustration.

“... Th... van... not... se-nse... doesn't make sense!” He finally succeeds. “Why does Lord Kolivan keep a painting of Keith's _vampire_ mother in his study? You basically said that Marmora Hall is a Hunters’ hideout!”

“Lance...”

“Hunters _hunt_ vampires!”

_“Lance.”_

Lance stops, but he isn't listening to him. There are so many things he doesn't understand, that he doesn't even know from which one he should start rambling again. He begins walking back and forth, as if his steps could fill the gaps, not caring if he bumps into the table.

“What if Krolia had been a Hunter? What would her companions do to her after she had been turned? What about Keith? _Do you think Lord Kolivan has something to do with Keith's disappearance_? This story will screw Allura and Matt's wedding up--”

“Lance!”

The Wizard grabs the Assistant by the shoulders and looks him straight in the face. The short distance between them would, in other circumstances, cause the boy a significant flicker in his stomach. But now Lance returns his grip, squeezing his arms, his eyes wide open.

“What if the vampire on the moor is Keith's mother!?”

“There's _no_ vampire.”

“But- the bites, the eyes, the blood, the agility-”

Shiro sighs before explaining his reasons.

“Listen up: the marks left by the teeth on the neck are too irregular, moreover the victims say they saw yellow irises... vampires have yellow sclera, if not the entire eye. The blood sucking and the speed at which they strike is what they have in common, but there are other details that don't make sense.”

Lance curses, and then apologizes with an _ops_.

“We're back to zero... We don't know what is infesting the moor and now we find out that Lord Kolivan hides more than just hunters in maid aprons. What if Keith is out there? Technically he isn't a _true_ vampire”

“Keith wouldn't attack innocent people.”

Lance gives up before he answers back, because there are subjects Shiro is reluctant to argue about. His gaze falls on the library clock that marks about three o'clock in the morning.

“Can we go back to our room now? We have already challenged fate more than necessary and I definitely don't want to run into one of Lord Kolivan's minions - that Antok upsets me enough, especially with the shears in hand now that I know he pretends to be a gardener.”

Shiro nods and retrieves the lantern with a last glance at Krolia's painting. What happens next is completely random.

Lance doesn't do it on purpose. He's tired, the revelations are still echoing in his head like the storm outside and he ends up not paying attention to where he puts his feet. In his defense, the tea table has fragile legs and it is not the ideal spot where to place an urn. The latter rolls on the ground while Lance clings to Shiro in order not to stumble. It is the lantern that encounters the worst end. It escapes from Shiro's hand and shatters on the floor, fizzling out.

 _“Fuck_ ,” Lance whispers, embarrassed, his night robe loosened and his legs tangled with the Wizard's.

Now that the library is again filled with shadows, Lance has the feeling of being back at the beginning of this unfortunate night. However, he knows what is on the various shelves and surfaces. Still, being aware of the macabre details doesn't help making the study less spectral. “Shiro, can you light up your hand?”

The Wizard's only reply is an exasperated sigh. He brings his black and cursed arm between them. Stripes of tiny, luminous dots cover it until they create a purple glow around it. But he realizes too late - with the complicity of a lightning bolt - that there's a third presence with them. Two completely yellow eyes shine behind the Assistant.

“Lance!”

Lance tries to scream but his aggressor's hand stifles him.

The darkness hides the scene and Shiro can only imagine what happens after he notices the bare and sharp canines. His cursed hand turns black again, merging with the shadows to grab his Assistant and tear him away from the assailant's grip.

The room has reached an _impasse_. The only sounds in the dark are an unsatisfied growl, a feeble moan, and a quivering breath. Downstairs in the manor, someone is yelling that there are intruders inside.

Though Lance is shocked, he is the first one to react. With a hand pressed on his neck, he realizes that the _thing_ has emerged from the ashes of the urn. Lance clings to the Wizard's arm without turning his eyes away from of the vampire.

“Shiro, we have to leave... we can't get caught-”

“... Shiro?”

He will soon understand it, but now for the first time Lance hears how the voice of the renowned former Assistant of one of Londinium's most famous Wizards sounds. And the last lightning of that night allows him to see for a moment the same features of the woman portrayed behind his back. It's a scene that he will never forget. He will not forget Shiro's step towards those eyes, turning from yellow to purple, his hand reaching out to offer itself to the Dhampyr in a kind gesture that encourages him to hold it.

“Keith,” he says softly. “I found you.”

But it's not the right moment for the reunion. The eyes of the Dhampyr widen when the footsteps in the hallway become persistent and too close. He takes a step back, wobbling with a sudden weakness.

Upset as he is for the rush of the events, Lance speaks before thinking.

“We have to do something, Shiro! If they find out about him they'll blame him for everything that's happened!”

The clock strikes three with an inescapable toll and Keith doesn't give them room to act. Not when there are knocks at the library door and the windows are the only way out.

It's against one of these that Keith throws himself, shielding his face with his arms, not caring about the fall from the second floor.

The rainy wind hits Shiro and Lance's shocked faces when they look out, but they lose trace of the Dhampyr in the dark silhouettes of the garden.

" _Great_. Now there is really a vampire on the moor..." is the last thing Lance says.


End file.
